Shelved Under Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “Because it was pretty obvious you were flirting with Trey.”

  “Any reason why I can’t?” Sunny turned and leaned back against the steel cabinet, slapping the gloves against her palm.

  “Well, since you’re dating Brad…”

  “Not exclusively. Not like you and Richard.”

  “Okay, but it was pretty blatant, and I just think…”

  “For goodness’ sake, Amy, you’re not my mother.” Her blue eyes defiant, Sunny threw the gloves onto an adjacent shelf and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “And you know I am not into that ‘only one guy in the world’ thing.” As she continued to stare at me, her gaze softened. “I’m not like you. I just can’t see limiting myself to one person forever. Which is why—as I have told you before—I have no intention of ever getting married.”

  “Does Brad know that?”

  “He should. I’ve told him often enough.” Sunny crossed to the table and sat on the stool beside me. “You know I would. I’m an honest person—with myself as well as everyone else.”

  “I know,” I said, as she hiked her full skirt up above her knees.

  “No point in pretending to be something you’re not.” Sunny pushed off against the floor and then lifted her feet so that the top of the stool could spin freely. “I like my independence,” she said, grabbing the edge of the table to stop the momentum of her spin. She lifted her head and faced me, her expression unexpectedly serious. “Sometimes I really do wish I could fall madly in love with just one person, but so far it hasn’t happened.”

  I leaned forward and laid my hands on her exposed knees. “It still might. You never know.”

  “Doubtful, but I guess anything’s possible.” Sunny yanked the tie from her hair and began untwisting her braid. “It won’t be with Brad, though. I wish it could be, but I know it won’t.” She ran her fingers through her silky hair and fanned it out over her shoulders.

  “Too bad. But I agree that you have to follow your own heart.”

  “Yeah, and”—Sunny’s somber expression brightened—“so do you. Which is why Lydia and Zelda and Walt and I have planned a little surprise for you.”

  I stood up, pushing back my stool with one foot. “So you have been keeping secrets, just like I thought.”

  “We have. And it’s spectacular.” Mischief sparkled in Sunny’s blue eyes.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sunny leapt to her feet and dashed over to her backpack, which she had stuffed into one of the workroom shelves. Digging through the bag, she extracted a large envelope and waved it over her head. “Your ticket to happiness,” she said.

  I stared at her, totally bemused. “My what?”

  “Or to Richard, which is really the same thing, isn’t it?” Sunny danced her way over to me and handed over the envelope with a flourish. “Go on, look inside.”

  I opened the envelope and pulled out three documents. One was a ticket for a nonstop flight from Dulles Airport to LaGuardia in New York. For Saturday.

  “But this is for tomorrow…” I squinted and examined the ticket. “One way?”

  “Yeah, ’cause Richard drove and we figured he wouldn’t mind giving you a ride back on Sunday.”

  I just stared at her for a moment. “But the festival…”

  “Is all covered. We’ve got enough volunteers, especially with Lydia and Zelda, and Walt offered to help out too. I can supervise everything tomorrow and Sunday, so—believe it or not—you can actually be spared.” Sunny pressed her palms together. “Now look at the other two things.”

  I laid the airline ticket on the table and examined the next piece of paper. “A hotel reservation for tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah, and at the place where Richard is staying.” There was no denying the glee in Sunny’s voice. “I checked. Sneakily.”

  “I see. And this final thing…” I lifted the narrow rectangle of heavy card stock. “A ticket to the final night of the dance performance. Of course.” I placed the other papers on the table, next to the airline ticket, and stepped forward. “You complete and utter romantic fools.” My voice grew muffled as I wrapped my arms around my friend and buried my face in her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “But we wanted to.” Sunny pushed me back, keeping a hold on my arms. “Because we all love you, and Richard too, and we thought it was just criminal that you couldn’t be there at his performance, especially after what you guys have been through recently.”

  “I can’t ever repay you for this.”

  “Yes, you can. You can have the best time imaginable”—Sunny slid one hand up my arm to wipe away the tears dripping from my chin—“and then tell me all about it.” She gave me an arch look. “And I mean all about it.”

  When Deputy Coleman walked in to take our statements about the lost painting, he discovered me laughing and crying all at the same time and had to be reassured by Sunny that I was unharmed and, actually, quite happy, thank you.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I arrived at the hotel about an hour before the performance, which meant all I could do was check in, toss my carry-on suitcase on the bed, and hurriedly change my clothes before hailing a taxi to take me to the theater.

  I huddled in the back of the taxi, chewing on my pinkie fingernail and debating whether the dress I’d chosen to wear was actually appropriate for the occasion. I hadn’t visited New York often, much less attended many shows there, and wasn’t entirely certain what one was supposed to wear to a dance performance at an off-Broadway venue.

  I smoothed down the full skirt of my crimson silk dress and examined my kitten-heeled black pumps. I’d made the ultimate sacrifice of donning pantyhose but refused to wear the strappy, spiked heels Sunny had produced from somewhere deep in her closet.

  “You’ve actually worn those?” I’d asked, raising my eyebrows.

  “Well, not outside the bedroom,” Sunny had replied, which made me groan and toss the shoes back into the closet.

  I tugged up the bodice of my dress, which had a scooped neckline that tended to slip into a little too much décolleté. I’d even mentioned this to Sunny, who’d rolled her eyes and said something about that being the point.

  “Right here,” I told the taxi driver, and handed him what was probably too much cash. Jumping out of the taxi, I tucked my beaded purse tightly under my arm, gripped the front of my black coat together with one hand, and pushed through the glass-fronted entrance doors into the elegant marble lobby.

  Richard’s face smiled out at me from a lobby poster. I paused, noticing that the advertisement also featured photos of the other principals, including Meredith Fox. The vision of her beautiful, heart-shaped face surrounded by a nimbus of loose auburn waves brought me a momentary frisson of panic. She’s gorgeous, Amy, and she can dance. How can you ever compete with that?

  But Richard loved me. If I knew anything, I knew that. I squared my shoulders and marched into the theater, flashing my ticket at an usher, who handed me a program before waving me down front.

  My seat, in the middle of the orchestra section, had excellent sight lines to the stage. I wondered how Sunny had managed to score such a great ticket.

  It must’ve cost a mint, I thought, abashed by the generosity of my family and friends. But since they’d gone to so much trouble, I decided I should thoroughly enjoy myself. I slipped off my coat and laid it across my lap before opening the program to read up on the production.

  I knew from the little that Richard had told me about this piece that it was an adaption of the Orpheus myth but was surprised to realize that it was a full-length work. The videos I’d seen of his choreography generally featured shorter dances, usually staged as part of programs featuring other works. However, this piece, titled Return, comprised the entire program for the evening.

  Richard was credited as the choreographer as well as—via a special, obviously last-minute, insert—a lead dancer. Reading his biography in the program brought home how much he’d already accomplished in
his career. And yet, I thought, he’s the same guy who’ll climb a ladder to sweep dead leaves from Aunt Lydia’s gutters. I smiled to myself. Getting drenched in leaf meal and muck while he’s at it.

  The lights in the chandeliers twinkling overhead blinked and faded. I placed the program in my lap and settled back against the amber velvet upholstery of my seat as the maroon curtains parted to reveal a bare stage.

  At the back of the stage, fabric screens lit up with images, creating scenery that didn’t interfere with the open expanse of the floor. I clutched my hands in my lap. This was a new experience for me. Before this, I’d seen Richard dance only on video recordings or in his home studio.

  Sound swelled from the small pit orchestra. I couldn’t place the music and glanced at my program. Although it was difficult to read in the darkened theater, I was able to discern that this music had been written specifically for Return by a composer whose name I didn’t recognize. It was beautiful, though—at times haunting and melodic, then strident or soaring when required by the story.

  After a short section featuring dancers who I assumed represented denizens of the underworld, the stage emptied and the music fell away, until all that remained was the reverberating ping of fingers plucking a harp.

  Clapping filled the theater as a figure emerged from a haze of smoke at the back of the stage. I watched the dancer move downstage and realized that this stunning creature was the man I knew so well.

  And didn’t know at all. I sat through the rest of the evening with my mouth alternately dropped opened in silent wonder and clamped tight to prevent any gasps from escaping my lips.

  He was perfection in motion—human and yet somehow more. A physical body that could convey so much more than the physical.

  I also had to admit that Meredith, portraying Eurydice, was a superb partner—all gorgeous arms and incredible legs. She was somehow able to convey a graceful fragility despite the strength inherent in her lithe body. At one point, when Orpheus made the tragic error of glancing back at his beloved, the woman sitting next to me murmured to her companion that Richard and Meredith “had once been a thing, so maybe this is his way of expressing his loss.”

  But I knew better. As I watched the story unfold through music and movement, I knew exactly what Richard was attempting to convey.

  It had nothing to do with the loss of Meredith or their less-than-ideal relationship. He was mourning his true muse—the woman who’d been his best friend and the dance partner of his youth. A talented dancer who, unlike Richard, had been rejected by every top-tier dance company.

  I slid to the edge of my seat, certain that this piece had been created in honor of Karla, whom Richard had loved as a sister—and lost when she’d cut off all contact with him after fleeing the dance world.

  At the end of the performance, when Orpheus expressed his pain in a solo that brought the audience to their feet, I silently wept. After dashing away tears with the back of my hand, I joined in the enthusiastic applause as the performers took their bows. When Meredith and Richard appeared, hand in hand, the audience also broke into cheers and bravos, and several bouquets of flowers winged their way to the stage.

  After the curtains closed again and the lights came up in the theater, I headed toward a door I hoped might lead backstage. It took some time—everyone was moving in the other direction, so I felt as if I were swimming against a strong current. When I finally reached the door, an usher stopped me, but I gave him my name and asked him to check with someone in the company to see if I could be admitted. The usher soon returned, smiling and directing me backstage, toward a cluster of dancers.

  “Come on,” said a young woman still arrayed in her costume and stage makeup. “I’ll take you to Richard’s dressing room.” She looked me over as she guided me through a maze of black curtains and flats. “So you’re Amy, huh?”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” I said, clutching my wadded-up coat to my chest. The young dancer was half my size, making me uncomfortably aware of my more generous curves.

  “Glad you could make it. Richard will be thrilled. He talks about you constantly, you know.”

  “Really?” I followed her down a flight of stairs to a short hall. The doors off the hall were marked with placards bearing the names of the lead dancers.

  “Here you go.” The young woman rapped on one of the doors and called out, “Approved visitor!”

  “Come on in,” said a familiar voice.

  I shared a glance with the dancer, who winked at me and pushed the door open. “Go on. He’ll be over the moon, trust me.”

  Walking into the small, windowless room, the first thing I noticed was an overwhelming smell of sweat, mingled with a chalky scent I assumed was connected to the container of loose powder on the cluttered dressing table.

  The second thing I noticed was Richard, his face already devoid of makeup. He’d obviously taken a quick shower, since his skin glistened with water droplets and he was attired only in boxer briefs and a damp towel draped around his shoulders. Facing him, with her back to me, was Meredith Fox.

  She was still wearing the short white tunic that had been her costume. Her hair, unpinned from the golden net that had confined it during the performance, fell in loose waves down her slender back.

  As I stepped into the room, Richard glanced over Meredith’s shoulder. His gray eyes opened wide and his lips curved into a broad smile. “Amy!” He stepped around Meredith and reached me in two swift strides.

  Before I could even say hello, Richard wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “What are you doing here?”

  “Blame it on Sunny and my aunt. And Zelda and Walt. They all conspired to get me a ticket to the show, as well as an airline ticket and a hotel room,” I replied, lifting my chin so I could gaze up at his face.

  “Hotel room? Now there’s a waste of money. They should’ve known better.” Richard grinned and leaned in until his lips were only inches from mine. “I have a hotel room,” he whispered.

  “I think they didn’t want to assume…” My words were cut off, quite delightfully, by Richard’s kiss.

  A cough finally brought us back to our senses. Meredith. I’d forgotten she was still in the room.

  “Oh, forgive me,” Richard said, although he didn’t sound the least bit sorry. He stepped back but kept one arm around me as we turned to face his dance partner. “Meredith, as you may have guessed, this is Amy Webber.”

  “Hello.” Meredith examined me with an intensity that made me shrink a little closer to Richard.

  “And, of course, this is Meredith Fox.” Richard waved his free hand in her direction. “She was just talking to me about an opportunity at Clarion,” he added, glancing down at me with a lift of his eyebrows.

  “Yes, Richard’s been kind enough to agree to put in a good word for me with the dance department.” Meredith gracefully swept one hand through her auburn locks before placing it on her hip. “I need a steady job for a while, and there’s a position open at Clarion for a dance instructor next semester. Only temporary—covering for someone on maternity leave.”

  “I see.” I slipped my arm around Richard’s still-damp waist.

  “Clarion seems interested, but I was told the administration was concerned that my presence might … disturb Richard.” Meredith’s perfect nose twitched. “Apparently they’re terrified he might flee the department if I’m hired. They seem to think he’s irreplaceable.”

  “As they should,” I said, which earned me a kiss on the shoulder.

  “Anyway”—Meredith flicked her hand like someone swatting away a fly—“I just dropped by to once again beg Richard to tell them that it won’t really bother him to work with me again.”

  “And obviously it won’t, since we’ve just performed together with no problem.” Richard glanced down at me. “So I agreed.”

  “Which of course you should,” I said, leaning my head against his shoulder.

  Meredith’s smile tightened. “I suppose I should go change. See you
at the after party?” she called out to Richard as she sailed past us and headed out the door.

  “Party?” I asked, after she’d left the room. I released my hold on Richard and stepped back. Catching sight of myself in his dressing room mirror, I pulled my travel brush from my small black purse.

  Richard whipped the towel from his shoulders and rubbed at his damp hair. “Yeah, and unfortunately I must make an appearance. Schmooze the patrons and all that. This being a charity thing, I’m kind of stuck.”

  “I understand. I can just head back to the hotel, I guess.” I gave my straight brown hair a couple of swipes with the brush. “I’m in room two fifty-four. Just stop by and let me know when you get back to the hotel.” I tucked the brush back into my purse and tugged at the neckline of my dress, which had dipped alarmingly.

  “Don’t be silly. You’re coming to the party with me. And leave that alone.” Richard crossed to stand behind me. Reaching around, he took hold of my hand and lifted it away from my neckline. “It looks fine just as it is.”

  “A little too much exposure,” I said, wrinkling my nose at him in the mirror.

  “Not at all.” He squeezed my fingers. “You are beautiful just as you are.”

  “Don’t you have to get dressed? Or are you planning on showing off”—I slid my fingers from his grip and turned and looked him up and down—“everything? I know some of your admirers might appreciate that, but perhaps a little discretion…”

  “Actually, the company might raise some additional funds that way,” he replied with a smile. “But no, I think I’d better wear a few more clothes, since we need to walk a block or two, and it is chilly out tonight.” He leaned in to kiss my shoulder again. “Just give me a minute.”

  “Are you sure you want me there? I don’t know any of these people and I’m not very adept at schmoozing,” I said as he changed into black jeans and a white linen shirt.

  “You’ll be fine. And just knowing you’re there will make the whole experience bearable.”

  “Well, in that case…” I shrugged on my coat as I waited for him to throw on a gray wool jacket. After he slipped his feet into some well-worn loafers, I held out my arm. “You may escort me to the ball, kind sir.”